Read Online The Lieutenant’s Lover by Harry Bingham - Free Book Online Page A

to stay up all night to do it. He wouldn’t see Tonya again until the following evening.
    But, though Tonya missed him, she didn’t mind too much. She was behind with her housework and the apartment needed cleaning. She spent half an hour with her grandmother, Babba Varvara, then went back into the main room and began working. She hummed to herself as she worked, and sometimes found herself unconsciously repeating the dance steps that Misha had taught her. She was doing just that, twirling as she carried the cooking pot over to the stove, when she sensed the door open behind her. She stopped dancing and put the pot down. It was Rodyon.
    He looked tired and thin, worn down. She saw him still from time to time, but not often. She was surprised to see him, and guarded.
    ‘ Zdrasvoutye ,’ she said.
    Rodyon nodded, but said nothing. He sat down.
    ‘Tea?’
    ‘Yes, please, if you have it.’
    ‘You can have bread too, if you want.’
    ‘I’m fine.’
    ‘You’re not fine. You look tired and hungry.’
    Tonya put the kettle on the stove, then jiggled the logs inside to stir up the heat. The apartment was hot even with the windows open wide, and the heat was an unwanted extra. There was also something unsettling about the length of these summer days. When she was with Misha, the long days made sense. But when he was absent, the endless days and shimmering nights seemed mildly insane, as though the world had lost its ability to rest. She cut a slice of bread and spread it with pork dripping and salt.
    ‘Here.’
    ‘Thank you.’
    Rodyon ate it wolfishly, then sighed.
    ‘You know, Marx took a material view of humanity. It was his greatest insight, his greatest accomplishment. But you don’t realise how right he was until you’ve been hungry. All the time I’ve been sitting here, I’ve wondered whether you had sugar or jam to go with the tea. I desperately hope that you do, but have been too proud to ask. A spoonful of sugar against a man’s soul. Pitiful, isn’t it?’
    ‘I have sugar, yes. And lemon.’
    ‘Ah, the careful management of the official allocation or the miraculous bounty of the black market. I wonder which.’
    ‘You know very well which.’
    ‘Yes, and I’m going to enjoy it anyway. You were cooking as I came in. At least, you were dancing with a cooking pot, which I assume is the same thing. Don’t let me stop you.’
    Tonya did as he said. To the pot, she added cabbage, beans, carrot, onion and a thick shin of beef. She put the whole thing on to boil. She worked carefully, guarding her expression. She wasn’t exactly nervous of Rodyon, but the two of them hadn’t seen each other for a while and Rodyon seldom did things without a purpose. She waited for him to reveal it.
    The kettle boiled. She made tea, let it brew, then poured it, adding three spoonfuls of sugar. Rodyon took the cup with thanks. He had barely changed his posture since first sitting down, but she could see his tiredness slipping away, and he wore it now as a mask more than anything.
    ‘We’re seeing Pavel more and more at the Bureau of Housing,’ he said.
    ‘Yes.’
    It was true. Because of Misha, Tonya had been at home very little. Pavel, never properly rooted since their mother had died, had taken to leaving home more and more. He often ended up at the Bureau of Housing, where his admiration for Rodyon had blossomed into something close to hero-worship.
    ‘He is useful. He runs a lot of errands for us.’
    ‘He’s a good boy.’
    ‘Yes… And when did he last wash, do you know?’
    ‘Wash? He washes every day.’
    ‘Face and hands, yes. I meant more than that. All over.’
    Tonya shrugged. ‘He’s fourteen, nearly fifteen. You know what it’s like.’
    ‘This week? Last week?’
    ‘What do you care? He won’t wash in cold water and boiling enough water for a bath in this heat … well, he’s old enough to boil water for himself if he wants it.’
    ‘You didn’t always say that.’
    ‘He wasn’t always